Rain
by E. S. Young
Summary: Max never liked the rain. And after the war? It's almost impossible to bear. But it could be worse. At least he isn't alone. Max/Lizzy, OFC . One-shot.


**Rain**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Note****:** This idea has been in my head for a while now, however TakeMeOrLeaveMe2010's adorable Max/Jude fic _September in the Rain_ gave me the much-needed motivation to actually write the darn thing.

On another note: Hopefully this will, at the very least, be an interesting read, as it is written entirely from Dizzy Miss Lizzy's point of view.

**۞۞۞**

"_Have you ever been swindled by a swindler who lies_

_'Cause he wants to see you smile, have a good time, be inspired?_

_And he doesn't want for you to cry or know he cries inside,_

_So he hides behind his great triumphant rock and roll disguise._"

— Kimya Dawson, "Caving In"

**۞۞۞**

"Damn…" she muttered, huffily blowing honey-colored bangs out of her eyes as she turned around and saw that the sky had begun to grow dark with thick, angry rain clouds. Not that she didn't like the rain—if anything, she loved stormy weather (a trait that Max often said made her crazier than him because, "Seriously, Lizzy, who the hell likes the _rain?_"). However, as much as she enjoyed a good downpour, it was a twelve-block trek to her home, which meant that she would be soaked by the time she got there—something that she didn't care for in the least.

"What's the matter, Miss Lizzy?" inquired her boss, Mr. Mustard.

She turned around to see the man standing behind the sales counter holding a bottle of lubricant in one hand and a bright pink, ten-inch dildo in the other. It was something that she should have grown accustomed to by now (the Octopus's Garden_ was _a sex shop, after all) but the image of her short, aged, and balding employer delicately fingering various dongs and vibrators was and probably always would be rather amusing.

Smirking a little, she replied, "Nothin.' Just…looks like rain."

If it was at all possible, his wrinkled brow became even more creased than it already was.

"Thought you liked the rain."

"Not if I have to walk home in it."

"Ah, well…" He winked. "If you catch a cold, I'm sure your man-friend won't mind warming you up."

"Dirty old man!" she exclaimed in mock-disgust before turning back to the window and resuming her observation of the rapidly darkening sky. "Although you're probably right. In fact, I'm sure Max's dislike for rain is all just a ruse so that he can make a fuss about getting me out of my wet clothes and into his bed."

"A real romantic, that one," chuckled Mr. Mustard, who liked Max as there weren't many guys who would approve of their girlfriend's working in a sex shop, let alone ones who encouraged it like Max did.

"Tell me about it," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I guess I'd better be hitting the old dusty trail." The bell tinkled as she pushed the door open.

"Don't get too wet!" Mr. Mustard called as she exited the shop.

"If you weren't my boss, I'd say 'Fuck you!'" she returned with a laugh that quickly dissipated the moment an ominous rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

"Shit…"

"Oh _dar_-liiiing," came a low, sing-song voice.

She turned around and nearly did a double take. Parked directly behind her was a bright yellow taxi and, lo and behold, there beside it—cigarette in mouth, cap shading his eyes, arms folded casually over his chest—leaned Max, looking as smug as could be.

"Need a lift?"

"Hell yeah. What is this?" she asked, gesturing to the cab as she descended the stoop in front of the Octopus's Garden and approached him.

Max shrugged, nonchalant.

"Would you believe that I was in the neighborhood?"

"No," she said at once. "Although, I guess I'm gonna have to since I'd have a harder time believing that you're a decent enough person that you'd go out of your way to give me a ride home."

"Ain't she sweet," he muttered sarcastically before jabbing his thumb toward his cab. "Hop in."

"Not even gonna open the door for a lady?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "That isn't very gentlemanly of you."

"I think that saving your sweet ass from a monstrous thunderstorm is gentlemanly enough, thank you very much," he shot back. "Which reminds me—I have yet to hear anything resembling, 'Thank you, Max. I'll be sure to reward your overwhelming act of generosity with oodles of passionate love-making when we get home.'"

"Or," she suggested, sliding into the passenger's seat "…why don't we do it in the road? Right now."

Before he could respond, a fearsome crack of lightening flashed across the sky, making them both jump. Pretty blue eyes grew wide, darting back and forth anxiously as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Worried, she slid a hand over his, leaning over so that her head rested on his shoulder. He was frighteningly tense.

"Max, sweetie—"

"I'm fine," he stated, blinking rapidly and looking everywhere except for at her. "C'mon."

She nodded, reluctantly pulling away and leaning back against the seat, troubled eyes staring out the window.

**۞۞۞**

They were only a few blocks away from home when it finally began to rain. Things had lightened up a little once Max had started driving. He had asked her how her day went, if she had sold any good dildos, been hit on by any perverts, and if she had accepted any offers (she hadn't). And, in turn, she had inquired as to how many passengers he had pissed off, how many had pissed off _him_, and how many cute girls (and guys) had given him their number (three).

"You gonna call any of 'em back?" she asked, grinning.

He gave a careless shrug.

"Eh…I dunno. None were really my type."

"Oh?" She tipped her head to the side, giving him a quizzical glance. Then she remembered the conversation that they had had just the other week. "Ohh… That's right—you've recently established a 'type,' haven't you?"

"What can I say? Something about rich, mooching sluts just turns me on. Especially if they're sexy ex-nurses with cute Southern accents."

Sighing in mock-exasperation, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling of the cab.

"Oh, enough with the flattery—I think it's already quite apparent that you're getting lucky tonight."

"Fair enough," he allowed. "Though, y'know, I could have just been being nice."

"But you weren't," she pointed out. Then, for good measure, added, "Schmooze."

He was just about to fire back a retort when a droplet of water hit the windshield.

A clap of thunder shook the earth.

Rain began to pour, hammering down hard and fast, coming in great sheets.

An odd excitement began to build inside her chest—the kind that she always seemed to get during times like this. Moments of suspense—harmless but fraught with tension. Like whenever she was out for a walk late at night or whenever, as kids, she and her brothers Chuck and Dave used to stay up late telling each other ghost stories until they were all scared shitless—too terrified to move, let alone go to sleep. It was a fun kind of scared, though, with a feeling of safety in the knowledge that there was never any real danger.

It was funny that, after being over There and having lived through enough real danger to last a thousand lifetimes, the prospect of faux-danger didn't have any…negative affects. Was this a sign, perhaps? That she was getting better? Everything was all right, really. No bad memories were flooding her mind, no flashbacks were overtaking her—she wasn't scaring herself _too _much; just enough to get good and excited. It was fun in a twisted, childish sort of way.

She held her breath, eyes darting around, pleasantly anxious. But then—

_Oh shit_.

Any sense of assurance that she may have felt at the thought of getting better was immediately lost when she glanced to her left and saw the state of her lover.

Clutching the steering wheel so hard it looked as though it threatened to snap, eyes far away and wide with fear, breath short and panicked—for Max, the danger was very, very real. The chilling scene that was unfolding before her eyes was familiar, hauntingly so. However, the setting was entirely foreign. It wasn't the middle of the night in their charmingly seedy little apartment, on the mattress in their small and square bedroom with only the dull light of the lamp that Max would not allow to be extinguished. It was the middle of the afternoon in a moving taxi with people in other vehicles all around them, closing in, crushing them. And Max was loosing it.

They needed to get out. Now.

She watched with growing concern as he muttered frantically to himself, catching only whispered fragments of his terrified rambling.

"Shit, no…I can't—I can't do this, I-I've gotta get out…"

"Max," she began worriedly, but he didn't seem to hear her. Shaking, clearly distressed, his numb fingers slipped as he desperately tried to maneuver the car through the suffocating traffic.

"I can't, I—Jesus, this, I just—"

"Sweetie, it's okay. Let me."

He quickly shook his head, though she wondered if it was really her that he was hearing.

"No, I—no, oh God…"

Biting her lip, she looked around frantically for any kind of escape, then glanced up—the light was red.

Her eyes lit up. A tiny flame of relief flickered to life inside her chest. Good. Perfect. Cautiously, constantly looking between the glaring red light and the boy she sometimes suspected she was falling in love with, she slowly prized Max's fingers off of the wheel and entwined them with her own, holding them to her heart.

"I'm driving us home."

Eyes downcast, he gave a jerky nod. Then, suddenly, thunder boomed with rage, the sky lit up with a crack of electric fury, and the rain continued to pelt against the windows like so many bullets.

He looked up at her and shook his head furiously.

"Can't…"

"We're only a few blocks away—"

"It doesn't matter—I _can't_. I can't stay here. It's too…" He trailed off, uttering something she couldn't make out. He stared out the window, transfixed. Lightly, she touched his face, turned it toward her.

"At least let me park," she said, "and we'll figure it out from there."

He nodded distantly, rubbing his arms as if chilled and then, saying not a word, climbed into the backseat and sat on the floor where he remained, trembling, legs pulled up to his chest, face hidden in his knees.

For her part, she said and thought nothing, merely acted, taking hold of the abandoned wheel and parking the cab.

**۞۞۞**

Softly, with the grace of a dancer, she slipped into the backseat, hovering above him, uncertain. At times like this, everything depended on Max. It could have been either helpful or harmful to approach him. On the one hand, he may have been terrified of being alone and desperately in need of someone to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. However, he could have been so far gone, so wrapped up in his own paranoia that the slightest touch would send him over the edge and into a full-blown panic attack.

In the end, she settled for simply talking.

"Max?"

When he looked up at her, hot tears were streaming down his face.

Immediately, she gasped, trying to take him into her arms, but he pulled away.

"Oh, sweetie, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said in a choked whisper, furiously trying to scrub the tears from his cheeks.

"Bullshit,'" she said firmly, this time successfully managing to take a hold of his hands. She brought them to her lips and kissed each knuckle softly.

He shook his head, drawing a shaky breath.

"Just…bad memories." His voice broke on the last syllable and it was clear that his resolve was not far behind. More tears began to fall, and this time he could not brush them away. A small sob escaped his lips, making him crush them together tightly, as if in the hopes that that would stop her from hearing him. But he was still shivering uncontrollably. Without a second thought, she leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Tell me, baby, please," she murmured against his hair. "You know I'll understand."

He sniffed a little, blinking rapidly.

"It's stupid. Just…stupid. I shouldn't…I mean...You know…it rained all the time There," he suddenly blurted out. "All the time."

She nodded.

"Everything was soaked, y'know?" he rambled on. "Clothing, food, everything. And it just…it got to where I thought that…" He swallowed hard, eyes shining, remembering. "…I'd never be warm or dry again.

"But it's stupid," he continued, angry with himself. "Little shit like rain shouldn't set me off like this—_you _aren't bothered by it."

"I was inside a hospital," she reminded him gently. "It was different for me."

Just then, the thunder roared again, causing him to flinch. Stricken, shaking all over, he cast a terrified glance around the tiny cab, and then, like a small child, he hid his face in her lap, clinging to her tightly. Brow furrowed in concern, she sighed heavily, stroking his hair as the rain hammered against the windows and he whimpered in fear.

"I have an idea," she said suddenly, lifting his face so that their eyes met. "Listen: Let's just…get out of here. Home's only a few blocks away. I'll open the door, and we'll just…run—we'll make a break for it. Then, when we get back to the apartment, we can use up all the hot water taking a bath and then get under all our blankets. I'll even steal some of Jude's tea, if you want."

"That won't be like how it was over There at all," he admitted weakly, his voice strained.

"I know." She smiled faintly. "What d'you think, though?"

"Okay," he murmured, nodding a little to himself, still shivering. "Yeah. But…but let's hurry, okay?"

"Sure." She reached over and wrapped her fingers around the door handle, then looked back at him. "Ready?"

He glanced briefly outside at the heavily falling rain, then gave a firm nod.

"Let's go."

**۞۞۞**

Hands clasped tightly, they ran, pell-mell, into the storm.

Night was falling fast and the pounding rain nearly blinded them, but still they pressed onward, dodging traffic, trashcans, lampposts, people.

Her lungs were burning, but her concern for Max was stronger. He tugged her through the obstacles that blocked their path, or perhaps it was she who was leading him? She couldn't tell. Not that it was important.

Home was the only thing that mattered.

**۞۞۞**

When at last they reached their apartment, for a moment, they remained standing in the doorway, leaning on one another, slightly out of breath, soaked to the bone.

The apartment was quiet. Everyone else was out. The only sounds were of the rain outside, of thunder and lightening. Blinking, Max looked around wildly before his gaze finally fell on her.

She held his hand a little tighter and silently led him into the bathroom.

**۞۞۞**

She had to give him credit—even in his frazzled state, Max pulled it together enough to hold her steady as she struggled to remove her soggy jeans, his hands firmly on her waist as she gripped his shoulder tightly.

Their clothing gone, they stepped lightly into the bathtub.

Steaming water began to gush out of the showerhead, warm and comforting—a welcome relief after running four blocks through the freezing rain.

Silently, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her neck lightly. Long lashes brushed against her skin. Under the soothing warmth of the shower, he was beginning to relax.

They stayed like that until the water turned cold.

**۞۞۞**

She hated it whenever Max was quiet—it simply wasn't _him_—yet at the same time she understood it. She would get the same way, from time to time, sometimes affected by the same things as Max, sometimes they were different. She couldn't stand the sight of blood anymore, and the same thing went for hospitals. It was heartbreaking to think of it. She had been a nurse—something that, for all her family's wealth, she had always wanted to be, ever since she was a little kid—and now she couldn't. She was too rattled. She could no longer function under extreme pressure or hysteria, which was why she was surprised that she was often able to handle Max so well.

Like today. Where had that calm come from? Maybe it was knowing that they couldn't afford to have them _both _freak out, maybe it was just because she cared about him. She didn't know. But somehow, miraculously, she had been able to keep it together, get him home, safe.

After their shower, they went into their bedroom (i.e., the room where they kept all their junk that also happened to have a mattress in the corner) where she tossed a faded, navy blue T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants at him.

"What about you?" he asked once dressed, raising his eyebrows at her.

She glanced down at the lilac colored towel that was wrapped around her body and shrugged.

"Worry about me later. I wanna get some blankets, first."

He nodded, moving to help her round up all of the warmest, softest, most comfortable blankets that they and their roommates possessed, knowing that everyone would probably bitch about it once they came home but not really caring.

He then took her towel and threw it over his shoulder while she slipped into a pair of his light blue boxer shorts and a long-sleeved red shirt. When she looked up, Max was gone, having disappeared out into the "whatever room" and taking all of the blankets with him.

Curious and slightly worried, she followed, entering the scene to find him curled up on the couch wrapped in every quilt and afghan they had gathered.

"Tea?" she asked quietly.

Shaking his head, he merely held out his arms to her, reminding her of a small, frightened child that was only in need of love and comfort.

Smiling softly, she obliged, allowing him to pull her onto his lap and fold the blankets over them both. He held her close, burying his nose in her still-damp hair.

"Sorry about you getting all wet," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically meek.

She waved it off, trying to act casual.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was."

"Well…" She hesitated. "It's not like you can help it, anyway."

"I should be able to, though," he replied darkly.

"The hell you should," she said at once. "Jesus, Max—"

"No," he said sharply, cutting her off. "Damnit, Lizzy, this is fucking ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep, I jump at every little noise, and things like _rain_ send me into panic attacks? I'm sick of it—"

She silenced him with a kiss, which he automatically returned before gently breaking away to nuzzle her cheek.

"But you're getting better," she said softly, stroking his hair. "Really, y'think about it…"

"Yeah…" he muttered simply for the sake of saying something.

"I mean, yeah, there are bad days—and maybe I'm wrong in assuming this—but isn't this the first one you've had in a while? Really, how long has it been?"

A harsh sigh and he rubbed a hand over his face, thinking.

"'Bout…a month…and a half? Two, maybe. But, shit, Lizzy," he cut off just as she opened her mouth to speak. "I hate being like this—and you and Jude and Lucy and everybody having to put up with it."

She scowled, rolling her eyes.

"We don't 'put up with it'—you know that none of us feel that way. It's not a chore or anything. We want to help and are more than willing to do it because we love you."

"Yeah, well…" He shifted restlessly before sighing again and letting his head drop onto her shoulder "I'm tired, Lizzy. I'm so tired."

This was one of those rare moments when she found herself at a loss as to what to say.

"I just…" he tried to explain, "I feel bad for you, y'know?"

She was a confident woman—not arrogant or self-centered, but certain of several aspects of herself, certain that she was attractive, certain that she was a decent person, certain that she was great in bed… She was wary of becoming over-confident, however, because there was always the risk that she was wrong, which could lead to getting hurt. And yet, there were times like these (and, she wouldn't deny that they seemed to be happening more often than not) where Max would say or do something that would make her wonder if he really did love her. Like, the other week, when he confessed that it bothered him that he ran around with other girls while she only slept with him. Or the fact that, despite all those one-night stands, he still kept her around. Or even right now, when he said that he felt bad for her because he thought that he was inconveniencing her. Which, as she had already told him, was complete and utter bullshit.

Honestly, she could see loving Max and sticking with him for a long time. Really, there wasn't anything he did that repulsed her—rather, it seemed like everything he did only further endeared himself to her. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and, if she did say so herself, the feeling was mutual. What had started as a little crush had developed into more than she had ever thought it would—well, to put it simply, she certainly never thought that she would be living in New York City because of the guy. But she had done nothing to stop it, and, quite frankly, didn't plan on doing anything about it in the future. Hell, knowing Max he probably _did_ love her but just couldn't figure it out. If that was the case, then all she had to do was wait. As strange as it seemed, she could be patient when she wanted to be—and if she had enough to hold her over in the meantime. Which she did, all things considered. At the moment, one thing that she _was_ sure of was that Max, at least, cared about her, and that was perfectly fine.

"I mean, it's not fair to you," he rambled on. "Like you haven't got enough shit of your own to deal with—let's throw me into the mix."

A part of her—her old self, someone that she was slowly beginning to realize had not died in a hospital over There with so many men, women, and children—wanted to make a sort of comment, such as 'Yeah, but you're what gives the mix is special flavor' or something dumb like that, but the more sensible, mature person that she was now refrained. Instead, she chose to say, "I don't mind. I never did."

But he shook his head, not listening.

"You won't always feel that way. Give it time—you're gonna get fed up and not wanna deal with my shit anymore—"

"Max," she stated flatly—a strong contrast to the sadness she felt at his words. Is that really what he thought..? "Shut up."

"Lizzy—"

"I mean it," she cut in. "I'm not pissed off that I have to help you get through your bad days, because it's not a matter of _having _to_,_ it's _wanting _to do it. You know me—if I didn't want to be there for you, then I wouldn't. And besides, it's not like it doesn't work both ways. Like, the other day, when Jude had that nosebleed and I was so freaked out because of all the blood that I couldn't even get the poor guy a tissue? Sadie handled it while you took me out of the room and calmed me down. Or like, no matter how drunk you are, if I have a nightmare, somehow, you always manage to wake up to comfort me and shit. So I'm probably half of the reason why you haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in so long, and I feel bad about that…"

"What?" he cut in, sounding appalled. "No, no, that's bullshit—you shouldn't feel like that—"

She blinked at him, eyebrows raised pointedly. And then it hit him.

"Ohh… Oh yeah. Okay. I get it now."

She kissed his cheek.

"Yeah, so...don't go feeling guilty, okay?" She shifted so that her head was resting against his chest. "It's like, the one thing that doesn't look good on you."

She could feel his lips twitching into a smirk.

"Y'know, for a crazy bitch, you make a lot of sense sometimes. It's weird."

Yawning slightly, she closed her eyes.

"Yeah, well…don't get used to it. You'll be setting yourself up for disappointment."

He hugged her tighter.

"Okay. And Lizzy?"

"Yeah?"

Gently, he cupped her chin and, tilting her face upward, leaned down and kissed her.

"Thanks, babe."

Outside, the rain still fell and the thunder crashed.

Neither one of them noticed.

**۞۞۞**

I hope that post-war Max was okay. True, _Part-Time Lover _and _the Word _both took place after his tour of duty, but this is really the first thing I've written that actually explores how the war affected him. In any case, I'll never know unless you review, so please do not hesitate to tell me what you think, good or bad! :)

**Notes**

Mr. Mustard – first Beatles' reference of the day. I've been wanting to bring in a Mr. Mustard character for a while, now, actually. However, this guy isn't so much mean as he's just a good-natured pervert. :D

…the Octopus's Garden_ was _a sex shop, after all – it was a toss up between calling the store "the Octopus's Garden" and "Norwegian Wood." Also, it just makes sense for Lizzy to work in a sex shop, doesn't it? Honestly, there were several jobs that seemed right for her before I finally settled on this one. I'd always wanted her to be a nurse, but at the same time I'd considered making her a college student going for a degree in psychology, a stripper, a fashion designer, a ballet dancer, and, of course, an employee at a sex shop. Actually, although it is not mentioned in this story, Lizzy ook ballet lessons as a kid and throughout high school, then she worked in a strip joint known as the Day Tripper while going to college for her RN, then she became a nurse, went over to Vietnam, got messed up and couldn't handle the pressure of working in hospitals anymore, so now she works in a sex shop even though she doesn't actually have to work at all since her family is rather wealthy and sends her money on a regular basis. But that's a story for another day. :)

…there weren't many guys who would approve of their girlfriend's working in a sex shop – honestly, I do think that Max would not have a problem with this, just because he's the sort of guy who wouldn't try to stop people from doing what they wanted to do (unless it was seriously dangerous and life-threatening and even then, if it was fun enough, he might still be cool with it). And, as it says later on, he actually encourages it, and this is because Lizzy gets a great discount on all of the toys that she sells. And Max likes to be, uh, creative in the bedroom.

"Oh _dar_-liiiing," – reference number…five, I think?

"Ain't she sweet," – make that six. Why is it so easy to do this with Max/OC and yet I hardly make any refs. in my Max/Jude fics? _Trés bizarre._

"…why don't we do it in the road? Right now." – seven, and I think that Max would be all for that if there weren't a massive thunderstorm approaching them.

she and her brothers Chuck and Dave – this is actually, if you think about it, two references in one. In the song "Dizzy Miss Lizzy," the girl in question is instructed to "run and tell your brother," and in the song "When I'm Sixty-Four," the grandchildren are named Vera, Chuck, and Dave.

…the lamp that Max would not allow to be extinguished. – if you recall from _Part-Time Lover_, Max refuses to sleep without a light on. This is just a little something extra I did with my Max, but my thinking is that he takes comfort in sleeping with a light on because, that way, whenever he wakes up from a nightmare, he'll at least be able to see everything around him and, hopefully, this will make it easier to remember that he's home and that he's safe again.

he merely held out his arms to her, reminding her of a small, frightened child – excuse the fangirl moment, but seriously, picture this and tell me that it isn't adorable.

"…I'm so tired." – reference number ten, not to mention one of my favorite Beatles songs.

"It's like, the one thing that doesn't look good on you." – and this is a reference to Max's own thoughts on feeling guilty in _the Word_. Which, I'm actually thinking of changing the title of that to _Girl, I Wanna Marry You_, but I'm still debating.

**Disclaimer****: **This time I get to say that I not only own just Lizzy, but also Mr. Mustard, Chuck, and Dave as well. Yay, I'm gathering more characters of my own! That said, I do not, however, own Max, _Across the Universe_, any of the other characters mentioned from the movie, or any of the songs that were referenced. Anything that isn't mine is the property of either Julie Taymore or the Beatles. Suing people isn't cool, so please refrain from doing it to me. _Merci!_


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